In the vacuum of space, no clocks tick, there’s no watch to check if you are late, no hands to blur the flow of time. Comets crash, stars burn, all the while planets turn and scientists no longer wind: they measure with quiet quantum mechanics, atomic clocks and relativity, warping time with precision while we […]
Tag: Imaginary Garden with Real Toads
Mehndi
She inhales the musky pungent blend of henna mud and turmeric curling from the sun in the palm of her hand, curlicues and russet rings circling her fingers. Intricate tattoos tiptoe on her feet to meet her groom’s initials concealed beneath a silken sari of yellow, the spicy colour signifying spiritual well-being and a prosperous […]
They Don’t Know They’re Dead
They cling like mist, damp and chilly on my coat, as I stand at the bus stop by the cemetery gates, aware that it could be an uncomfortable wait. I stare at my feet to ignore the embarrassed stares of other people in the queue and the pleading eyes of those who breached the cemetery […]
Words in my Mouth
I explore them with my tongue, easing them between my teeth and into the roof of my mouth, each one different. Some are like honeycomb, their crumbs coating enamel, teasing fillings with a crunch. Others, smooth as chocolate, melt dark and warm on taste buds. One surprises me with acid lemon, bursting zest and sunshine. […]
Treehouse
I am building a treehouse of words at the end of the garden where no one can find it up high among branches and birds, tethered by feathers and covered with foliage, plastered with poems and rendered with rhyme; as part of the tree it will grow over time. I am building a treehouse of words […]
Words like Paint
She paints the detail of a seed and from it roots and branches sprout and grow; blossoms open in a haze of breath and drift away; leaves uncurl, exhaling green, then turn to rust, fall and decay. She looks at fingers stained with words, her face reflected In the oily sheen, and sees the universe. […]
Dogged by a Rose
The attar of a rose follows throughout the day, from its glass prison vase to the promise of a summer’s day, with touch of a satin cloak in the chill of spring, scented smoke curls into twilight before its petals close for the night. Kim M. Russell, 2017 Image found on ravindraandsons.com My response to […]
Protected: Feathers
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The Edge of Dawn
I’m waking on the edge of dawn, shadow-lit and milky-grey, diffused by pigeon’s wings in sun as they ascend into the day. I’m clinging to the edge of dawn, a sparkling morning has arrived, and the magic’s only just begun: mist clears from heaven’s eye, leaves snowdrop-scented dew on lawn, and daffodil trumpets breathe a […]
Painting by Numbers
Painting from early morning, with the gusto of a New Yorker a Glaswegian a Marseillais eating a haggis a hot dog a bouillabaisse, the artist tried to beat the August heat before his still life wilted. Applying chrome yellow with textured impasto, he was determined to paint them all in one go. Now the tournesols […]
writing in north norfolk 